


Narcotics Anonymously Your's

by WodensSkadi



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Multi, Narcotics Anonymous, Sex, drug overdose
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-02-26 01:04:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18713341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WodensSkadi/pseuds/WodensSkadi
Summary: Jamison "Junkrat" Fawkes is a drug addict. It's gotten bad enough that he's been court ordered to attend Narcotics Anonymous. He'd give anything to be anywhere but here but he has a bitch of a parole officer and the big bloke offering to be his sponsor at his meetings isn't too hard on the eyes.





	1. Who is an Addict?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scrunchles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrunchles/gifts).



> Tumblr:
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> https://wodensskadi.tumblr.com/
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> Twitter:
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> https://twitter.com/wskadi
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> This is 100% a coping fic. I was in a long term relationship with an addict for nearly 8 years and fell into the pits of drug abuse myself. I've always wanted to explore my feelings on the subject through writing but I didn't expect it to be in a fanfic. I'm really fighting my urge to crack jokes left and right and tackle some legit angst here, so I hope it reads well enough.
> 
> It's also totally in revenge for Scrunchles always breaking my heart with angst. Threatened her a long time ago with this fic so blame her.

There aren’t many people here. Mako counts maybe 13 in total, including himself and the funeral attendants. It’s not uncommon at these kinds of viewings. For addicts, that is. People burn bridges; sometimes well enough that very few feel like pretending they cared enough about him to lie and say how great he was now that he’s dead. Other times, he’s witnessed spouses or parents break down and bawl their eyes out. Overdoses are never an easy thing to handle for the people an addict leaves behind. 

Mako sits at the back and watches people in the pews ahead of him stare at a framed photo of a thin, young man. Jamison Fawkes. Most people on the streets knew him as Junkrat though. Mako knew him as Jamie.

________

 

Smoke tendrils wafted about Jamie as he took long drags on his cigarette. He could see a gathering of people outside the entrance to a rundown rec hall, all chatting and smoking just like him. He’d normally walk over and join in, introduce himself, crack a few jokes, but he didn’t feel like making new friends with any of these people. His lip pulled up in a snarl as he took in their easy laughter and camaraderie. What a bunch of asswipes. He’d give anything to be anywhere but here.

He lifted another cigarette to his mouth and flipped his Zippo open when a hand settled on his shoulder. He jerked away and raised a fist instinctively.

A man somehow taller than Jamie’s 6’5” stood beside him but didn’t bat an eye at his twitchy reaction. “You here for the meeting?” he asked. His voice was low and gravely. 

“Tch, why else would I be standing around here? I had ta cancel all me other titillating activities so I could be here. Tough choice though, had a great evening planned with loads more fun stuff to do, like taking a shit or popping the massive zit on me arse. Super bummed I couldn’t find the time to jam needles under my fingernails,” Jamie said with a roll of his eyes.

The man just stared at him evenly before walking away.

Jamie returned to his smoke and kept his back to the man as he joined the group of folks standing around. Fucking fat coward. Didn’t even argue with him. 

By the time he finished the fifth smoke he noticed the street had gone quiet - he glanced over and noted everyone was gone. Guess it was time to start. With an exaggerated groan of frustration, he made his way inside the building. 

The lights were dim and candles sat in front of every chair that was placed on tables arranged in a rectangle. There were maybe twenty or thirty people walking to their seats with styrofoam cups of coffee. He made a beeline for the steaming pots and made himself two cups with loads of sugar before finding a seat that had no one sitting on either side. He didn’t want to be close to any of these damn mouth breathers. When a notebook and pen made its way towards him he thought about scrawling out his bulldust nickname, Junkrat, but realized it wouldn’t win him any favors with the judge. So he scratched out his name and tossed the notebook to the next closest person and took another gulp from his first coffee.

The giant fatass who had approached him outside took a seat and cleared his throat, effectively silencing the group’s interpersonal chatter. The light from the candle before him highlighted his heavy chins and brow, making his already intimidating features appear monstrous.

“Hello, I’m an addict and my name is Mako. Welcome to the R.I.P., Recovery In Progress group of Narcotics Anonymous. This is an open candlelight meeting, designed to welcome anyone who wishes to be here and encourage the 12th Tradition: Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of all our Traditions, ever reminding us to place principles before personalities. Can we open this meeting with a moment of silence for the addict who still suffers, followed by the Serenity Prayer?” He paused for a period before fixing his eyes on Jamie. 

Jamie glared back as Mako and the others recited their prayer: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.”

“Is there anyone here attending their first NA meeting, or this meeting for the first time? If so, welcome. You are the most important people here.” Mako continued on, his heavy voice drowning out Jamie’s mocking snickers. His eyes bore into Jamie’s with an unveiled threat. “There is one must that applies to everyone attending, that no drugs or paraphernalia be on your person at meetings. If you are carrying anything please take it outside and leave it, then you are welcome back in. This is for the protection of the meeting place and the NA fellowship as a whole. If you’ve used today, please listen to what is being said and talk to someone at the break or after the meeting. It costs nothing to belong to this fellowship; you are a member when you say you are. 

“Could someone please read, “Who Is an Addict?’ ” Mako asked.

Jamie glanced around and saw laminated sheets of paper scattered across the tables, one of which sat before him entitled “Who Is an Addict?” His arm shot out and tossed his page down the table. He might be forced to attend these meetings but he wasn’t gonna parrot their whiney mantras back at them in an exercise he found masturbatory. 

A tired-looking but runway model level beautiful woman with long dark hair swept into a high ponytail picked up the sheet Jamie had cast aside. “Hello, my name is Amelie, and I am an addict.” A soft, French accent accompanied the woman’s words before the rest of the room chorused back with, “Hi Amelie.” She nodded before continuing, “Who Is an Addict? Most of us do not have to think twice about this question. We know. Our whole life and thinking were centered in drugs in one form or another—the getting and using and finding ways and means to get more. We lived to use and used to live. Very simply, an addict is a man or woman whose life is controlled by drugs. We are people in the grip of a continuing and progressive illness whose ends are always the same: jails, institutions, and death.”

Jamie tuned out as Mako asked other members to read various pages. What a bunch of preachy arse wipes, he thought. For people who wanted to let go of drugs they sure focused on them in these meetings. And if it wasn’t on drugs it was on God. They were just replacing one addiction for another. At least drugs gave you a good high. This was just depressing. He contemplated just leaving - he’d already signed his name for having attended. But then he remembered the court card; he needed a member to sign and date it, verifying his attendance. He let out a frustrated groan and the turn of heads in his direction made him roll his eyes in annoyance. 

“Would you like to share?” Mako asked, his tone nonplussed.

“Share what, mate? Ain’t like we’re allowed to carry anything worth sharing. ‘Cept a spare Durrie, or a cuppa,” Jamie cackled and leaned back in his chair.

Even in the poor lighting, the glower Mako was sending his way was clear. That or the man always looked pissed. Jamie wouldn’t be surprised. They were all a bunch of ex junkies. He himself gets rather foul when sober. Case in point, this very moment.

“We don’t give advice in these meetings but if you don’t want to be here you’re free to leave,” Mako said.

Jamie straightened up from his slouched position and met Mako’s frown with a grin. “Sorry, mate but I’m court ordered. Judge says it’s this or jail and I much prefer the option of freedom.”

“The freedom to fuck up again,” a man snarled. He sat diagonal from Jamie on his right. He wore a dark sweater, and his hood was pulled up, hiding most of his face. His voice was dark and full of venom.

“Gabe-” began the man to his side.

“No,” he snapped, jerking his shoulder away from the soothing hand that had settled there. “I left my old meetings because it was full of a bunch of court-orders who took up space and time and put the real NA member’s sobriety at risk. I’m here to fucking get better, not put up with some shit stain who can’t even be thankful he’s being given a second chance.” He turned his head to face Jamie.

“Thankful!” Jamie howled in laughter. “Getting sentenced to sit with this sorry lot is bit like gettin’ the rough end of the pineapple.”

Gabe jerked to his feet, his plastic chair tumbling over. “I’ll show you the rough end of -”

“Enough!” Mako bellowed and pounded a heavy fist thunderously against the poor folding table.

The room jumped and everyone stared at him.

“Gabe sit down,” he ordered. 

Gabe’s body was visibly shaking with coiled rage. Another hand from the man still seated next to him broke the oppressive tension and Gabe pulled his chair upright again before sinking back into it, staring at his gloved hands clenched in front of him.

Mako turned his attention to the group as a whole and he took a deep, steadying breath. “This is an open meeting, meaning all are welcome here, regardless of whether or not they identify as a member. ‘Progress over perfection.’ None of us are without our faults and mistakes. It’s our drive to do better that keeps us together. Which is why we maintain ‘principles before personalities’.” He rubbed his face, tugging his furrowed brow smooth before continuing, “Let’s take a break, and come back in 15 minutes.”

Jamie was the first to leap up from his chair and dash towards the exit; the room felt confining and hostile. Probably his fault, but fuck them. 

Outside in the stillness of the night though, his consciousness had nothing to focus on. And too much chatter in his mind made him anxious. It was a feeling he tried avoiding at all cost; usually drugs helped slow things down enough that thoughts rolled right by him, but right now he had nothing. So when he jerked a smoke from his pack he was a bit more aggressive than he intended to be and the soft paper tore, rendering the cigarette useless. “Fuck,” he cursed and tossed it away, frustrated.

“My friend, if I may?” came a soft and soothing voice. 

Turning, Jamie saw a young, bald man being pushed in a wheel chair by another equally young man. But that’s where the smiliarities end. The mand in the chair is dressed in loose, simple, cotton robes, whereas his friend is decked out in nice slacks and flashy silver and green silk shirt with a shock of green hair. They couldn’t look anymore opposite from one another if they tried.

With only a raised eyebrow from Jamie, the man continued. “First meetings are sometimes the hardest. Court ordered or not, i commend you for your appearance. We usually recommend attending 7 meetings before deciding if this is the place for you. I will sign off on your card for as long as you are required, as long as you attend the first 7.”

Spinach head gasps and looks down at the other. “But, Zenyatta, are you-”

“Genji, we must accept that not all who attend are ready. If now is the right time, it will work out. If not, is a waste of ours’ and his time,” Zenyatta responded brightly and cooly, his eyes steady and unwavering on Jamie.

Fighting back a sneer, Jamie dug into his pockets for his signature card. “Fine, I’ll attend your shitty meetings. Just keep that dog in check,” he groused in reference to the hispanic man named Gabe he’d argued with earlier.

With a smile, Zenyatte took the card and signed it. “I am sure he will be in much better spirits the next time you visit, given that you behave as member yourself.”

Jamie cackled. The balls on this bloke! He snatched the card back and turned to walk away. 

“I’ll be on me best behavior!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Withdrawals are a bitch.

Jamie showed up early again for another Narcotics Anonymous meeting that week, looking a little worse for wear. He paced a bit outside across the street, sweating profusely and with no desire to smoke for once. Those fall nights sure could get warm and heavy. Giving in to the pounding in his head and his trembling legs, he plopped down on the edge of the curb, exhausted.

It wasn’t until a massive, steel-toed boot nudged his face that he understood that he passed out or fell asleep.

“You dead?" a gravelly voice asked.

Must have been that fat ass, Mako. 

"Naw, but if I am, I’m in hell since you’re still here. Where’s that edgelord, Gabe?” he groaned as the boot continued to nudge his face.

There was a deep chuckle before a hand the size of a rubbish bin lid grabbed his arm and lifted him to his feet despite his protests.

“When’d you last use?”

Heavy-lidded eyes tried to narrow at Mako in suspicion. He hadn’t used since before he got released! In fact, it’s been - oh. Oh fuck. He groaned in frustration - answer enough for Mako’s question.

“Thought so. The worst is yet to come. How about you come over here, sit down and drink some coffee. I’ll give you a ride home afterward,” Mako offered.

Jamie shrugged but allowed Mako to help him inside and begrudgingly accepted his spot at the table between Mako and, yay, Zenyatta and his flashy boy toy. What the fuck were they? It was obvious there was a closeness but what it was exactly eluded him. Mostly because Zenyatta was in a wheelchair. Could he even get it up? Gross.

He’d zoned out enough that he missed Mako opening the meeting and it sounded as if was a member’s turn to read one of those laminated sheets. 

The infuriating try-hard guy, Gabe, was glowering at him as the blond man next to him introduced himself before reading.

“Hi, I’m Jack and I’m an addict,” he started and paused as a chorus of other voices offered a greeting. 

“What Is the Narcotics Anonymous Program? NA is a non-profit fellowship or society of men and women for whom drugs has become a major problem. We are recovering addicts who meet regularly to help each other stay clean. This is a program of complete abstinence from all drugs. There is only one requirement for membership, the desire to stop using. We suggest that you keep an open mind and give yourself a break. Our program is a set of principles written so simply that we can follow them in our daily lives. The most important thing about them is that they work. There are no strings attached to NA. We are not affiliated with any other organizations. We have no initiation fees or dues, no pledges to sign, no promises to make to anyone. We are not connected with any political, religious, or law enforcement groups, and are under no surveillance at any time. Anyone may join us regardless of age, race, sexual identity, creed, religion, or lack of religion. We are not interested in what or how much you used or who your connections were, what you have done in the past, how much or how little you have, but only in what you want to do about your problem and how we can help. The newcomer is the most important person at any meeting because we can only keep what we have by giving it away. We have learned from our group experience that those who keep coming to our meetings regularly stay clean.”

Jack finished and slid his paper towards Mako.

Jamie thought he sounded oddly militant and given his high and tight haircut and impeccable posture, he was willing to bet he and Gabe both were current or ex-military. Yikes. What a bunch of bootlickers. Of course some organized group like this worked for them. They were accustomed to structure, relied on it, needed it to function.

He sighed but stayed, in his opinion, politely quite this time-his head hurt too much to mouth off anyway. Instead, he surveyed the room. There was Mako, Zen, Genji, Gabe, and Jack. Wait, that jaw-droppingly beautiful woman was here, he thought that her name was Amy or Amelie. Beside her was another woman; Jamie was tempted to daydream about her and Mako in a wrestling match. Her muscles were impressive, though she wore pink makeup and hair. It was a fascinating combination, but his head was killing him and given her love of bright, saturated colors, she was hard to look at and any time she spoke, her voice was booming and it made him dizzy. He’d rather Gabe spoke. Asshole that he was, at least the dumb goth could keep his tone low.

His mind wandered as the members took turns reading the papers or telling stories. It was hard to focus when his whole body ached.

Mako cleared his throat and began speaking, “Hi, I’m Mako and I’m an addict,” he said gruffly, then allowed the room to chorus back their greetings. “We here know the plight of the addict. We’ve been sober, we’ve been under the influence, we’ve suffered withdrawals, and we’ve relapsed. None of us are perfect. But our willingness to continue, to come back, to try again. That is what makes us strong.” There's a pause as Mako lays down 5 tokens. “These are all 1-year chips. I’ve earned 5. 5 times I screwed up and came back and 5 times I fought to another year. Being honest and open is important even if it is only with ourselves. I’m still not the nicest guy, but I’m sure as shit not bullshitting myself anymore. Which is why I have my 15-year chip as well.” He pauses and sets out another coin. “I had to accept that I’d go through the pains of withdrawal again, the admission of what I saw as defeat with you all, and the courage to try it all over again. It was worth it. It’s always worth it.”

Gabe nods solemnly and thanks Mako for his share. “Hey, I’m Gabe, I’m an addict. And I second Mako on this. I’ve earned my fair share of 3-month key chains - more than I’m comfortable sharing. But I know that if I just keep coming back I’ll earn my chips. Plus I had a few really long stretches before and being clean for that long was awesome. My relationship gets stronger every time I find sobriety,” he pauses and squeezes Jack’s hand.

Jamie’s eyebrow would have risen had he not been dealing with a splitting headache. The rest of the evening is tuned out as Jamie closes his eyes and fights not to shiver against the bone-deep chill that has been creeping into him ever since he regained consciousness.

With no real desire to focus on the meeting at hand, Jamie zoned out, only startling awake again at Mako’s nudge. Everyone was standing up and holding hands. What the fuck? A gargantuan hand roughly jerked him to his feet and grasped his right palm. What the fuck! Zenyatta, with gentle care, slid his hand into Jamie’s left hand and then bowed his head. What the fuck!?

“Zen, lead us through the Serenity Prayer,” Mako commanded, more than requested. But Jamie kept his eyes open and watched as Zenyatta merely nodded.

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things that I can, and the wisdom to know the difference,” he said, his voice carrying a nice lilt to it. It honestly reminded Jamie of those cheesy meditation soundtracks.

Before he could pull his hands away, Zenyatta and Mako both swing his arms as the group chants, “Keep coming back; it works, if you work it. So work it, ‘cause you're worth it!"

Bizarre rituals seemingly over, Jamie flopped back into his chair but Mako’s sausage fingers pulled him back up. “C’mon,” he said gruffly.

Jamie heard words but didn’t understand what anyone was saying; only the tone. He recognized the rumbling of Mako’s deep, engine-like voice and the tranquil notes of Zenyatta’s. Zen sounded awfully worried whereas Mako’s voice sounded nearly angry. But then again, he always sounded nonplussed. It was apparently time to walk, since Mako just tugged him along, pushing him toward a large, lifted, slight-against-god, iridescent-silver pick-up truck. Did he mention that it was as ugly as sin? ‘Cause it was.

Another booming voice approached and the words were stilted. He barely remembered a large woman with bulging muscles and a shock of pink hair and makeup. Her voice had sounded foreign during the prayer and creepy little chant. Maybe she wasn’t from down under? Most of them didn’t sound it, to be honest, but it was obvious Jack and Gabe were U.S. Military of some sort, so they somewhat made sense to have an accent. But then again, Zenyatta and Genji sounded like maybe they were from, well, honestly, he wasn’t sure. It was only obvious that the two men were Asian. Not that this had anything to do with the fact that he was being hefted into the garish truck. Did it? He wasn’t sure anymore. He just knew that quick lift left him dizzy and he gagged. More angry voices. Not just Mako’s perma-angry voice this time either. The wind was knocked from him as he dropped on the ground back outside. Christ. What was that for? Fuck it. At least the ground was cool. He pressed his cheek against the filthy, chilled sidewalk before allowing himself to slip under again.

The next time he woke up, he was burning up and the sidewalk was gone, its replacement - an over-stuffed, leather couch-felt hot and sticky against his face. Gross. He groaned and tried opening his eyes when the face of a cute, pink pig embroidered on a pillow greeted him. “What the-?” As cheerful as the pillow’s face is, it is bright. His eyelids slammed back shut as Jamie grimaced. “Damnit piggy, you’re too loud,” he grumbled in protest. 

“Sorry,” a heavy and gravel-laden voice responded. Cool. Sentient, talking pig pillow.

“You sound like that guy, Mako,” he tittered before wincing at his own high pitched laugh.

There was an amused snort. “Idiot.”

“Hey now,” Jamie began to argue. “I don’t believe name calling is warranted here. ‘Sides, yer just a pillow. Even if you are cute,” he admitted quietly.

“Cute? I’m a prime specimen,” the pillow chuckled.

“Dunno ‘bout all that,” Jamie laughed, grimacing again at his volume. He kept forgetting that hurt.

“How is he?” another heavy voice asked, but this one sounded different. More feminine.

Jamie glanced to the side and saw a pink, decorative chair with a small white teddy bear sitting in it. Weird. 

“Hallucinating, I think,” said the pillow.

“Am not, Piggy,” Jamie argued and flopped his head back down. Okay so maybe talking to inanimate objects was weird but god, everything hurt and he was really confused. “You got anything on ya? Could really go for a bump, or I’ll take pills if ya got ‘em.”

There was a grunt as a shadow moved to loom over him. “If we take you to the hospital, they can give you something for the withdrawals, but there are no drugs here.”

Jamie whined. “Just something to get me through this. I have a guy. In my phone he-”

“Piggy” interrupted him. “Not here,” he said. “If you use you can’t stay here. If you stay, we’ll help you.” 

Piggy was an arsehole, Jamie decided. An arsehole like Mako. Probably ‘cause the pillow wasn’t really cognizant and Mako had dragged him to his place with Zarya’s help. Or the last day had been a wild dream? A nightmare was more like it; he felt like he was dying.

In theory, going to these meetings and getting sober for a bit sounded like a pain in the ass but doable. But now that he was fiending for more? It was torture. He let out a frustrated sob as the realization of what was going on finally hit him.

“Don’t know that I can do this, mate,” he choked out, shifting and tugging at his shirt, uncomfortable with everything touching his skin and restless with the all-consuming need screaming inside him.

The press of a cool, damp washcloth on his forehead settled him down momentarily before tears ran down his face. The last time someone did such a simple gesture of caring, he’d been a kid; his mom would take care of him when he was sick. “How longs this gonna last?”

“We’ll be here for you,” Mako answered, avoiding the question. “Just trust that something bigger than you can see you through this.”

 

Well, Jamie thought, Mako sure was bigger than him.


End file.
